I hesitated, thinking that while a divorce was imminent, I didn't want him to freeze to death.
Just then, my phone rang.
It was another text from that same number.
It was a photo showing a scantily dressed lady. Her raised left wrist was adorned with a flashy Vacheron Constantin watch.
There was another hand of a man, who was wearing a dark grey shirt.
His identity was plain to see.
That shirt was now discarded at the living room entrance.
The shirt's owner had just tried to hit me with a belt and told me I would scavenge for food without him.
I stood up, shut down my laptop, and went to my room.
Steve deserved to freeze.
The next morning, I took the twins to school.
Steve was no longer in the living room.
Wherever he went, I didn't care anymore.
It only disgusted me.
The twins, now six years old, had just started first grade.
Sitting in the family driver's car, my daughter suddenly asked, "Mom, you haven't smiled in a long time. Are you unhappy?"
I forced a smile, "No, sweetheart, don't worry."
At the school gate, my son ran ahead while my daughter stopped and looked at me worriedly. "Mom, cartoons say if you're unhappy, you should stay away from what makes you sad."